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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26333035">Calamity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollytea/pseuds/mollytea'>mollytea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream Team - Fandom, Dreamwastaken, GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom, Minecraft Youtubers, Sapnap - Fandom, Youtubers, clay dream, dreamnotfound - Fandom, dteam, youtuber</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Drug Dealing, Illegal Activities, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:32:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,253</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26333035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollytea/pseuds/mollytea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"why can't you understand that everything that happens to you matters to me?!"<br/>"i'm not your responsibility, george."<br/>"you roped me into this. you made this my responsibility."</p><p>-<br/>(dream team but drug dealers)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap/Wilbur Soot, George/Dream, Zak Ahmed/Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>198</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rain glittered against the night sky reflecting the streetlights as it plummeted towards the ground, noticed only by George, who had opened his fourth story apartment window just to listen to it. He rested his face on his hand, letting out a sigh and realizing that the large billboard that typically blocked his view of the moon didn't exist in his new flat, allowing him to stare off at it.</p><p>Duffel bags and suitcases still littered the floor of his new bedroom filled with clothes George hadn't the heart to fully unpack yet. Truthfully, living with Nick was a last-resort. But on-campus housing became too expensive and Nick needed a roommate--something about his job demoting him. Whatever the reason, he offered to pay 60% of the rent, which was more than fair to George.</p><p>Admittedly, his new room was much bigger than his old dorm, with a bigger desk and his own bathroom. The apartment was out of the college town which was inconvenient, but George enjoyed being able to sleep without drunken college students singing their school's anthem at ungodly hours of the night. </p><p>Nick had been an anxious mess all evening, switching the channel every few minutes and checking his phone compulsively. "Are you going to tell me what that's about?" George had asked. He paled in color and muttered something about waiting for the pizza guy to get here. He didn't believe it then, and especially not now--two hours later and nobody had come to the door.</p><p>George couldn't hear any noise in the apartment and assumed Nick had finally went to sleep. Not that he was avoiding him, but he would rather not walk into the kitchen and watch Nick scramble to explain why he was so jittery. But it was quiet, so he risked it.</p><p>The apartment wasn't dark, despite it being nearly three in the morning. The kitchen low-lights were on as well as the floor lamp near the couch, and George opened the cupboard to pull out a glass for water.</p><p>He nearly dropped it however, when the quiet atmosphere was shattered by the noise of someone jamming a key into the front door. George's breathing stopped as he spun around and stared at the doorknob in disbelief as it turned to open. He was frozen--how the hell was he supposed to defend himself? He was only armed with a plastic cup, and it's not like he could use his business school knowledge of the production-possibilities curve to protect his apartment.</p><p>Statue-still, George watched in horror as the door swung open. In the dim light, George could only make out a tall figure whose hand was wandering around the wall trying to find the light switch. Within a second, the full lights bathed the scene in white light.</p><p>It would be impossible to tell who was more surprised. George's immediate impression of the robber was <i>Who the fuck robs an apartment in a green hoodie?</i> But he hadn't the time to contemplate the proper clothes to wear while robbing before the guy started speaking. That was the other thing--he couldn't be older than George, was he just some dumb college kid trying to pay tuition by robbing? If so, he was doing horribly so far.</p><p>"Who are <i>you</i>?!" he demanded, closing the door behind him and locking it behind his back.</p><p>"Who am <i>I</i>?" George said incredulously. He was suddenly filled with anger. "You broke into <i>my</i> apartment and you're asking who I am?!" Even as he said it, he was filled with empathy looking at the stranger. His hoodie was splattered with rain and covered in dirt . It was visibly torn at the elbow, with blood from his wound contrasting the tan skin underneath it. His knuckles were badly bruised and shaking, and George could see another dark bruise growing below his eye from across the room.</p><p>He looked away, as if feeling George's gaze. "I-I'm sorry if I scared you. Doesn't Nick live here?" He touched his hand hesitantly, then shoved both into the pocked of his hoodie. "I need to talk to him."</p><p>Before George could respond, he was interrupted by a commotion coming from Nick's room. His bedroom door opened with force and Nick stumbled through the dark hallway and into the kitchen. He hadn't changed out of his clothes from earlier in the night but look almost as disheveled as the stranger.</p><p>"Clay!" He exclaimed, a smile appearing briefly on his face before disappearing at the sight of his beat-up friend. "What the hell happened to you?" But it seemed he already knew. His expression changed into grief, and he didn't even seem to notice George staring in confusion at both of them.</p><p>"She '<i>changed her mind</i>'." Clay spit out, focusing all his attention on Nick. "Called off the deal. But she made sure to take off with nearly our entire stash before calling it quits, classy as ever." He gestured around his face, and George could now see his busted lip and scratched cheek. "Oh, and <i>this</i> was a parting gift. In short, we were robbed."</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>a.n. // hey! thank you for reading my story so far. add it to your library to know when i post updates! let me know what you think :D have a good day! -molly</b>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Fresh Rain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>tw// mention of blood/wound (not graphic)</i>
</p><p>George was getting more irritated by the second. He put his plastic cup down on the counter forcefully to grab their attention and walked over to the bar where Clay and Nick stood. "Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!"</p><p>"Just tell him. He knows this much already." Clay told Nick, who sighed and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.</p><p>"Okay, fair enough. George, me and Clay are, erm, business partners. And tonight we were trying to merge businesses with this girl and her operation but she pulled out of the deal and instead ransacked our products."</p><p>George disliked the ambiguity of his statement. "Products? Business? I thought you worked in an auto garage."</p><p>Nick shifted nervously. "Well--I mean, physically, yes. It's an auto garage. But Clay and I don't fix cars."</p><p>"Well what do you..." George felt his stomach drop with realization. "Are you <i>drug dealers</i>?!"</p><p>"Not personally, no," Clay spoke up calmly. "We're distributors. Just a tiny link in the long chain." </p><p>George stared at him, as if how he worded it would make their business legitimate. George took his hand off the counter, wondering if everything around him came from illegal drug money. "So when you said you got demoted and needed a roommate..."</p><p>"Our supplier got busted and we took a hit for a few weeks so I needed help with rent, yeah. We had to scramble to find a new guy, but this one's more expensive--"</p><p>"Nick, we need to call the others--even meet them at the garage tonight." Clay interrupted. George noticed he was picking at his fingers inside his green hoodie pocket. He looked tired in the full light. "I'll call them."</p><p>Nick noticed his state as well. "They can't see you all busted up like that. Clean up and I'll call them."</p><p>"Oh...I suppose you're right." He started toward the bathroom, and George realized Clay had already been here multiple times before. It made him uneasy.</p><p>Feeling rather useless, George decided to stay in the kitchen with Nick. He had known Nick for years and not once did he ever suspect his involvement in street drugs. He stared at his roommate expectantly.</p><p>Nick fished out his phone and finally looked up at George. "I...I know this isn't what you were expecting."</p><p>"You could have at least told me he was coming," He felt his face heat up. "That some stranger was going to bust in here in the middle of the night."</p><p>"You're right, I'm sorry, I'm just not used to you living here yet," Nick said sincerely, looking up from his phone. "No more secrets."</p><p>George had a feeling that wasn't a guarantee Nick could make considering his line of work. Holding his phone between his shoulder and his ear, Nick wordlessly handed George a box of assorted bandages and pointed toward the bathroom.</p><p>He took the bandages begrudgingly and knocked softly on the door.</p><p>In a second, the door swung open and George's breathing hitched. Clay looked a lot different in the full lights of the bathroom. George could see his hair, which was disheveled and dark honey blond. His eyes were startlingly green, and George's stomach twisted at the sight of the bruise darkening over his cheek. And his lips--it seemed criminal that they were bleeding and split.</p><p>George cleared his throat and hoped he hadn't stared for as long as he thought he had. "Erm, Nick wanted to give you these." He said awkwardly. Clay turned back to the mirror and continued gingerly wiping the blood off his lip with a damp cloth.</p><p>"You can put them there," He gestured to the counter space next to him. He had taken off his hoodie and was wearing a plain white t-shirt, and George glimpsed the gash on his elbow from the reflection of the mirror. He tried not to let his eyes stray too far from it.</p><p>"I-I can bandage that for you. You can't reach it--"</p><p>"George, I am capable of putting on band-aids--"</p><p>"Just let me do it." He said firmly. To his surprise, Clay faced him, leaning against the counter submissively. George took the cloth from Clay and folded it differently so it was clean. He wrapped his fingers around Clay's wrist and lifted until he caught on and put his hand above him to rest against the wall.</p><p>George stepped closer and tried to ignore how Clay smelled like fresh rain and instead started cleaning the dried blood around the fresh wound, and noticed the ragged scrapes that covered his elbow. Clay must have slid on the ground to have gotten marks like these, and the realization made George's heart ache.</p><p>He was younger than he originally guessed, maybe only by a few years, but up close George was sure of it now. He couldn't be older than 21. What a stupid idea: going to any type of meeting without protection. Nick was doing nothing but worry all evening, he should have gone along. What kind of a leader was Clay for walking into this?</p><p>"You're judging me," Clay spoke up, studying George while he worked.</p><p>George felt his face heat up. "What? No, of course I'm not--"</p><p>"No, no, it's okay," he said quietly. "I know how it looks, showing up here looking like this and dropping all this information on you in one night." The softness in his voice made George's heart pound.</p><p>Truthfully, he was right. George was slightly pissed that some stranger wandered in and changed everything he thought he knew about his friend in one night. He was much happier being blissfully unaware of what Nick did while George was at Uni, and if it was dealing god-knows-what on the streets, then so be it.</p><p>"I don't... care about that. It's your business, not mine. I'm just the roommate. After tonight I'll probably never have to talk to you again and you'll be free to throw yourself into all the sticky situations you can fathom."</p><p>Clay winced as George accidentally brushed the cloth across the center of the wound. He mumbled a quiet "sorry." and fished for a bandage that would fit the scrapes.</p><p>"So that's why you're pissed. You think I was careless."</p><p>"All I know is you walked into something big alone and Nick was out of his mind with worry all night." George carefully applied the covering to Clay's elbow.</p><p>"I have reasons for what I did. I'm not new at this, you know,"</p><p>"Well, which is it: are you 'not new at this' or are you in my bathroom covered in blood?" George challenged him.</p><p>A smile tugged at the corners of Clay's lips and George felt a weird sense of pride. "No longer covered in blood, thanks to you."</p><p>Thankfully, Nick called out that they needed to leave because George found it impossible to speak.</p><p>George stepped into the hallway first and could swear there was so much more air out there. He ducked into his room to grab a jacket before joining the other two by the door. Clay had his hoodie on again, the white gauze George applied peaking out from the rips in the elbow.</p><p>~</p><p>Cold, moist air hung in a low heaviness on the streetlight-lit sidewalk. It was no longer raining but the streetlight reflection still shimmered in puddles on the street. George yawned. It must have been nearly three in the morning and running around with his new drug dealer friends probably wasn't helping his sleep schedule.</p><p>Clay and Nick were discussing something heatedly in front of George, and he realized he was staring off at Clay's bandage. If he thought about it long enough, he could feel the warm bathroom lights on his skin again and smell the fresh rain from Clay's clothes. He averted his gaze, dismissing the thoughts.</p><p>The walk to the garage was surprisingly short. George nearly crashed into them when they abruptly stopped at an intersection. The conversation quieted as they stopped walking, and George notices Clay looking around them alertly despite the night being dead quiet.</p><p>They wait for the cross walk to turn green even though there are no cars in sight, and walk a little further down the new block. The street was a mess--graffiti covered the sides of buildings and shards of glass lay on the ground in front of boarded-up windows, litter lowly tumbling in the night wind. George shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around himself. The other two stopped in front of a roll-up door that was positioned in the dark between two streetlights--he doubted he would have normally noticed its existence.</p><p>Nevertheless, Clay bent down to grab the handle and roll up the door. The loud metal cranking likely bounced across every store front down the street, but George had a feeling nobody was around to hear it. The thought made his hands sweat.</p><p>Inside the garage, the atmosphere shifted completely. Warm air washed over George and he was greeted with old jazz music playing quietly through a speaker somewhere in the room. The space was large with lamps scattered around, casting light on a few couches and chairs placed around an old TV in a U-shape.</p><p>In another corner of the garage, foldable tables were set up with a few chairs dotting around--a workspace, George guessed. Four people were already inside. A couple occupied the couch, and two teenage boys sat together on the carpet with some kind of card game sprawled out on the table in front of them.</p><p>"Dream!" One of the boys exclaimed, standing up.</p><p>"Hey, Tubbo," Clay replied, walking towards the group. He seemed to stand up straighter.</p><p>Nick rolled the door down behind them and George waited for him to finish before joining the group.</p><p>He stood awkwardly to the side, everyone falling into what seemed to be their usual seating arrangements. The couple and Nick sat on the couch, the two boys sat on a second couch, and Clay pulled a chair up in front of the TV.</p><p>The group eyed George, and Clay cleared his throat to get their attention. "Before you all start asking, that's George. He's Sapnap's roommate. He's apart of this now, but we're here to talk about what happened tonight."</p><p>George wanted to protest, but Clay's composure kept him quiet.</p><p>Clay took a deep breath. "Blossom didn't take the deal."</p><p>"We could tell that much from your face, Dream," the blond teenage boy said from the couch.</p><p>Surprisingly, Clay smiled. "Yeah, one of her cronies landed one on me." His smile slipped away. "But that's not the only thing she got tonight. 32nd street's been robbed."</p><p>George could swear the air left the room. The jazz music felt misplaced, the only other sound being the groan of the couch when the girl straightened up. "What?" her voice quivered. She was pale, with white-blonde hair falling down her shoulders. Worry coated her face."But I was supposed to sell 32nd street product tomorrow." Tears began to stream down her face.</p><p>The man sitting next to her with fluffy brown hair pulled her closer, caressing her shoulder as she clung to him. He muttered quiet <i>'I know</i>'s in her ear. He seemed to be in his mid-20s like George.</p><p>"Yes, well, we'll have to dip into the stash here for tomorrow's sale." Clay's voice was surprisingly dry, as if her tears inconvenienced him. "I'll talk to Eret about getting another shipment later this week."</p><p>"That's not going to be cheap," Nick added, rubbing his finger against his temple. Clay shot him a look.</p><p>"That's right."</p><p>"Well, hold on a minute," Tubbo spoke up from the couch. "Where are we going to get the money for another shipment? We'll have to cut it from somewhere."</p><p>Clay sighed quietly, shifting in his chair. "I'll take the cut this week."</p><p>The blond teenager on the couch piped in. "You can have my share this week, Dream. The hospital bills don't come in until the end of the month--"</p><p>"I'm not going to do that, Tommy. Decision's final."</p><p>The atmosphere was thick. Even George felt helpless watching the scene and wondered why Clay was being so short with everyone. It seemed like the group desperately needed a pep-talk.</p><p>"This isn't the end of the world," George blurted out. The six stared at him, and he swallowed hard. "It could have been worse. They didn't find out about here, right?"</p><p>Clay looked like he was about to challenge him, but he stayed quiet. George continued rambling. "Look, it sounds like whatever they got was only a fraction of what you had, and you can afford to take a cut. That's a good thing--you have a safety net when things like this happen. You can afford this robbery." They stared back blankly, but the girl had stopped crying.</p><p>"Thank you, George," Clay cleared his throat. "He is right about the location. As long as this garage at 12th terrace remains unknown to them, we're safe from another attack like that. We took a risk having the 32nd street location--we knew that going in. This garage is a little further out of town."</p><p>This seemed to bring some relief to the members of the group. George was thankful Clay took the attention away from him.</p><p>Soft jazz music still drifted through the garage and Clay stood up as if dismissing the meeting. He walked across the room and sat down at a table in front of a laptop.</p><p>The couple were talking quietly on the opposite end of the couch from Nick and the two teenage boys sat on the floor again, continuing their card game in high spirits. They had changed the radio to some kind of alternative rock and were singing along quietly. Nick waved George over and he sat in the chair next to him. "It was good you said something,"</p><p>"Really?" George stared. "He didn't look appreciative exactly. More like irritated."</p><p>Nick lowered his voice. "You can't take it personally when he gets like this. We all know he's looking out for us, he's just stressed tonight."</p><p>George looked around at the garage. This place was like a home for these people, they lounged in it like it was their own living room, not some storage box on a trashy side of town.</p><p>"Look," Nick said, scooting closer to the edge of the couch to George. "I know you don't approve of this--why the hell would you? But think of the people we're helping here." George looked at the people around the TV. Those boys were so young, and the couple looked tired. "Tommy's doing this to help his grandfather pay off his grandmother's medical bills--they're his guardians now. And Tubbo's his best friend--he says he's here to help Tommy but most of us assume there's another reason. Dream might know--"</p><p>"What is it with that name? And they keep calling you 'Sapnap'?"</p><p>"They're just code names. Dream founded the group and we've just been calling him it. Plus he thought it would be best if the group didn't know his name, and I had the liberty to do it too since we work together."</p><p>"And what about..." George nodded to the couple.</p><p>"They're trying to run away together. I don't think they have good home lives, but here they can be together. George, I know it's bad. But in my eyes, it's better they work for Dream than for some other nasty characters on the streets."</p><p>Clay called out from across the garage. "Wilbur, Sap, come look at this for me,"</p><p>"Just...think about that before judging us, okay?" Nick said as he stood to leave. George nodded slightly.</p><p>But any way he sliced it, this was jail time. This Blossom character seemed entirely capable of turning all of them in, code names or not. If she found the first garage, it seemed entirely possible that she could find the second one.</p><p>His thoughts were interrupted when the girl moved to where Nick was seated previously. "Hi," she said softly. Her glasses were thin and round, but even from under them, George could see the exhaustion and puffiness around her eyes. "I just wanted to thank you for trying to look at this positively. Dream's not the best at pep talks." She smiled to herself. "But Will's always there to cheer me up."</p><p>"I'm happy for you, then," George said. "And it's nothing, I just came along with them tonight."</p><p>"You're not staying?" She sounded disappointed.</p><p>"Well, no--"</p><p>"I thought you were Sap's roommate, how can you live with him and not be apart of this?"</p><p>"Well, I just moved in," George said awkwardly. This was becoming more than what he signed up for.</p><p>Just then, Tommy cheered from the other couch. "I win! I get to pick the program." He grabbed the remote and turned it on, the news blaring out from the speakers, catching everyone's attention.</p><p>"Turn it off!" Clay yelled from the workspace, standing up and sending his chair skirting backwards. Tommy's eyes filled with panic and he fumbled with the remote to silence the TV. "Dammit, Tommy, you know we can't put on the TV at night. It's practically shooting a flare into the air."</p><p>"I-I know Dream, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."</p><p>"Damn right you weren't. We cannot risk Blossom finding out this location." Clay had walked over to the group now, his body rigid with tension. George couldn't believe this was the same man that spoke so softly in the bathroom just hours ago.</p><p>Nick made his way over to Clay and told him lowly that they should be going soon. Clay nodded. "Okay, I think we're all just too tired to do any work tonight." He rubbed his eyes and turned to George and the girl. "Nikki, tomorrow is going to go fine. You've done this deal a million times before, just let me know you're okay after it's over."</p><p>She wordlessly nodded, still frazzled from his outburst. Wilbur came over and sat with her, smiling briefly at George while taking Nikki's hand.</p><p>They filtered out of the garage, leaving only Clay, Nick, and George. "Go home," Clay said to Nick. He stared back in confusion. "It's fine, I just want to talk to George for a minute."</p><p>George cursed the fluttering in his stomach and helplessly watched as Nick exited.</p><p>"I don't understand--"</p><p>"I just want to show you something," Clay replied, giving him a short yet reassuring smile.</p><p>~</p><p>They were back in the windy night walking down the sidewalk deeper into the city. Clay hadn't said another word to George, and George didn't exactly know what to say. He had known these roads all his life, even identified some of the businesses, but he had never walked them so late at night. It made him anxious.</p><p>"Thank you for coming along tonight," Clay started. "I know you aren't comfortable with this whole thing."</p><p>"Yeah, well, that's because 'this whole thing' could mean serious jail time. Do you know how much money I will have wasted on University if I get arrested? I will never get a job."</p><p>Clay kicked a rock as they walked. "You're not going to get arrested." He said calmly.</p><p>George watched the rock skid across the sidewalk and kicked it again. "You can't know that. The risk--"</p><p>"--Is minimized." Clay finished. "Nikki takes the biggest risk out of the rest of the group and even then, the dealers she sells to are people she knows. She was already known when she joined us."</p><p>George furrowed his brows. "Why would you let her do that?!"</p><p>"I pay her more because of it," Clay replied quietly. "We're here."</p><p>They had stopped in front of a real building with paint peeling off the walls. Wooden boards lay on the ground, leaving the windows open like a passage.</p><p>"32nd street?" George questioned. "But why?"</p><p>"I just...want you to see it."</p><p>Clay disregarded the gaping hole where a window once was and instead walked to the door, fishing out a key from his hoodie pocket and unlocking the old wooden door.</p><p>It creaked open, revealing a devastating scene.</p><p>Though it was hard to see all the damage in the darkness, George could clearly make out strings of lights torn from the walls, hanging haphazardly. The couch had a large tear in it as if gutted by a knife, and chairs were tipped over. What broke George's heart was the mattress--sheets were torn off of it and the mattress was drenched in some kind of foul-smelling liquid, like sewer water. It was clear somebody was camping out in this garage.</p><p>Board games were thrown across the floor sending pieces scattering a million different directions and a floor lamp was tipped over, its light bulb shattered on the ground. George's shoulders dropped. How could this Blossom girl be so angry as to ruin their hideout so terribly? Was robbing not enough for her?</p><p>George could tell at the heart of this illegitimate business was a simple group of young friends trying to fix their lives by doing whatever they can. They had been dealt a foul hand and Clay was giving them an opportunity to change that. He couldn't speak.</p><p>"It's... it's pretty bad," Clay noted, smoothing out a bunched-up rug with his foot. "I didn't let the others come see this. I think it would break their hearts." He looked around, and George could tell he was reliving the memories made here. </p><p>George watched him walk over to the couch and sit down, tracing the tear with his finger. George joined him. He wondered how many nights the group spent here, sitting where they were now, watching TV or having a game night. He never even considered that this group was a family, not just money-hungry kids.</p><p>"I'm sorry," George said sincerely. A streetlight bounced light in through the broken window, casting light on the pair. He had a faraway look in his eyes, but his face was sad. George wished he could comfort him somehow.</p><p>Seconds passed like hours and the pair sat together in sad silence. George may not have been apart of the family that once occupied this space, but he could recognize a home worth grieving over when he saw one.</p><p>"I'd like you to join me," Clay said at last with a softness in his voice. "You're smart. You're in business school for god's sake, you could help us out." He turned to him and George's breathing stopped. They were much closer than he originally perceived. He could even see the light freckles that dotted Clay's face.</p><p>"I...I don't know," George stuttered.</p><p>"You don't have to know," Clay replied. "The rest of the group already like you, you'd fit in great. Plus you could patch me up every time I get knocked around," He joked, looking off toward the windows.</p><p>"I'm not your nurse," George smiled. Clay laughed, and it sounded like summer wind. George felt a lightness in his chest. Prison might be worth sticking around with Clay if only to see that damn smile when he laughs. "But I guess I can help you out on the business side of things. I'm kind of a whiz at it."</p><p>"Really?" Clay grinned at him, and George thought he might explode. He felt himself nod in response, but his head was elsewhere. "Well I suppose we should get you home, seeing as it's nearly five in the morning,"</p><p>This jarred George back to reality. "You're kidding."</p><p>Clay shook his head, a goofy smile playing on his lips. </p><p>"We need to leave, like, three hours ago!" George exclaimed, standing up quickly and starting toward the door. Clay laughed and followed, opening the door for them and stepping into the cold early morning air.</p><p>They walked back the way they came, leaving the remnants of 32nd street behind them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A.N// hello!! thanks for reading til the end of ch2! add this story to your library to get notified when i upload new chapters! i will try to do weekly updates if you people like this. follow me on twitter @mollynotfound_ for updates there as well as epic dream team content B)  ~molly</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Stars Know All</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The early morning alarm never bothered George before. In fact, he was quite the morning person; he started his days with warm tea before walking to his classes, all of which were over by the early afternoon, leaving the rest of the day for himself. But this morning, he sincerely regretted signing up for his 8:30am lecture.</p><p>The cold air that circulated his bedroom seemed to trap him under his warm cove of blankets, and he could not imagine how anyone could willingly leave. He even briefly considered sleeping through the lecture before remembering his friend, Maia, would be expecting him to meet her for coffee after their class.</p><p>George groaned and pulled a sheet over his head as if hiding from the sun would make it go away. It did not, however, so he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stood up, wrapping a blanket around himself.</p><p>He trudged to the bathroom and the man looking back at him in the mirror was not someone he recognized. His hair was an unruly dark brown mess, and his eyes were lined with light grey circles, but he could not figure why he was so tired this morning. George turned on the faucet to run some water over his face in hopes that it would cure the groggy state.</p><p>George wet his hands and rubbed his face, letting the cold water drip down his cheek. He started to feel a little more awake.</p><p>He went to grab a towel but pulled his hand back instinctively. The only cloth on the counter was dotted with blood. Suddenly, the memories of last night flooded him—the rain, the dusty and broken remnants of 32nd street, and the blond boy that laughed with him in the dark. George’s eyes widened and he stumbled back, entirely alert. His heart raced as fast as his thoughts, realizing what he agreed to when he told Clay he would help them.</p><p>He must be insane—had he really fallen for this drug dealer’s charm? All he knows is scraping his way to survive, of course he would say whatever George wanted to hear in order to gain another asset. George felt like an idiot.</p><p>George decided right then that he was not going to continue indulging this criminal. After class he would call Clay and tell him that he was out. He was at university to get a business degree, join some corporation after he graduated, make money, then die happy—nowhere in the plan was there room for green-eyed distractions like Clay.</p><p>~</p><p>The business administration building was quiet, the only noises coming from closing doors or the scurrying of late students to their morning classes. Morning sunlight filtered through the grand atrium windows, casting a white light on the marble floors.</p><p>George hurried into one of the classrooms on the right and into the lecture hall where his class was held. Nearly one-quarter of the seats were filled which was surprising for an early lecture. Among them was his friend Maia, a fellow third year at their university. She perked up upon seeing him and waved him over to the empty seat on her left. He smiled sheepishly at the professor and took his seat.</p><p>“Somebody partied too hard last night,” she remarked teasingly, shifting toward George. She held her thin-rimmed gold glasses she used for reading in her hand. “Have you finally conformed to the party lifestyle our pristine school has to offer?”</p><p>“That’ll be the day,” he grinned. “Thanks for saving me a seat.”</p><p>“Thank <em>you</em> for proofing my paper…which you did do…right?”</p><p>George’s stomach plummeted. He completely forgot about agreeing to help Maia with her end-of-term paper.</p><p>Her brown eyes narrowed and bored into him. “Then this seat’s taken.”</p><p>He stared blankly at her. “W-what? I promise I’ll read it over tonight, I—”</p><p>“I’m just messing!” She broke into laughter, tucking her wavy brown hair that hovered above her shoulder behind her ear. Relief washed over him, and he smiled with her. “I really don’t care if you didn’t get around to it, but for the record, I <i>did</i> get around to reading yours.”</p><p>“Oh?” George cocked his head to the side. “And?”</p><p>“It’s a great paper,” she replied. “You have some good ideas about maximizing your CELL in more than just a hypothetical economics sense. I’m sure you’ll get an ‘A’ on the term paper.”</p><p>“I’m blushing,” he said sarcastically. Truthfully, her compliments made him uncomfortable—he had a natural affinity for this, but Maia certainly didn’t. Most of their study sessions consisted of him helping her—which he was happy to do—and with the end of term approaching, he felt almost obligated to help her prepare for the exam and term paper.</p><p>Professor Ingram rose from her chair, silencing the class with the sound of it rolling backwards. The projector clicked on, and a PowerPoint displayed on the white expo board.</p><p>“Before we begin today’s lesson,” the Professor started, scanning the room through half moon glasses. A scowl flashed across her face when she saw George. “I would like to remind all of you that your end-of-term paper will be due next week—no exceptions. Again, the prompt is to devise a business plan that creatively implements what you have learned this term. As always, my TA is here to assist you for up to one hour after every class.”</p><p>George internally rolled his eyes. The professor acted like she was offering a noble service by saying that, but her TA—Jane—was hardly useful. George once tried having a conversation about shifting a long-run aggregate supply model and was waved off with some excuse about how she had homework to do. George knew he was Maia’s best resource if she wanted to pass the term.</p><p>Professor Ingram cleared her throat. “Now, today’s lecture will conclude our discussion on…”</p><p>~</p><p>After an hour, the professor finally turned off the projector. George stretched his legs out, looking over at Maia. She rubbed her eyes. “What the hell just happened?"</p><p>He chuckled. “I guess I can explain it. Let’s get coffee.”</p><p>~</p><p>The pair walked together to a small coffee shop in the strip of shops near the business building. They ducked inside, sighing in the heated air. The small café was bustling with late-morning traffic. It was intended to be quaint, but given its location on the courtyard, it was usually overrun with people. Most of the customers and workers were around their age either studying in quiet corners or filtering through the crowd with warm drinks in hand.</p><p>Maia picked up one of those <em>Coffee News</em> newspapers while they waited in line. She immediately flipped it over to the horoscope chart. “Okay, let’s see…” she slipped on her thin-framed glasses.</p><p>“You do realize that ‘the stars’ don’t actually know the future, right?”</p><p>“Riddle me this, then, <em>Scorpio</em>,” she jeered, placing her finger on the paper to read. “It says, <em>if you have a change of heart about making career moves, that may give you some special benefits. You might develop strong feelings of concern for anyone or anything that needs your support or direction</em>.”</p><p>“Wow, that means absolutely nothing.”</p><p>Maia scoffed. “The stars are telling you what to do with your life, that’s ‘absolutely nothing’?!” He laughed in response.</p><p>Soon enough, they had their usual drinks—Maia had some kind of warm sugary peppermint drink, and George stuck with a chocolate coffee. They sat near the front of the store in high-top chairs that were pushed up against a big window looking out onto the common area for this side of campus. Triangular canopies stretched from tree-to-tree, casting shade on the greenery. Wooden benches were scattered around the concrete center, some of them occupied by students wrapped up in jackets.</p><p>“It’s biting out there today, isn’t it?” Maia took a sip from her drink and then pulled down her grey hoodie.</p><p>“I think it’s, like, maybe fifty degrees. Good chances of surviving.” George grinned at her. Despite living in Florida, the winter here still made her and many others bundle up in heavy hoodies. “So, how are you?”</p><p>Maia laced her fingers around her drink and George saw that her nails were painted a dark crimson. She looked down, crossing her legs. “Not too good, actually.”</p><p>“Is it your parents again?” George remembered that her parents gave her a hard time about doing well in university.</p><p>She nodded and the golden hoops in her ears shook. “It’s pretty bad this time. They said they’re not going to pay for anything anymore at the end of term if things don’t change.”</p><p>“Surely things are going well in Ingram’s though, right? I mean,” George leaned back in his chair. “With my expertise and all.”</p><p>She half-smiled and glanced off. “Yeah, I’ve got an economics god on my side. But in my social studies courses…it’s just a lot harder to care about it. No super-geniuses in there to help me out.”</p><p>“You still have time, maybe talk to the professor about redoing assignments. Better to ask now than next week when the term is closer to ending.</p><p>“I guess.” Her eyes got that faraway look that usually glossed them when she was more stressed than she was letting on. “But it’s easy to be an optimist when your life is floating in success.”</p><p>“Easy to be a pessimist when you pass up opportunities to improve shitty situations,” George quipped.</p><p>“You sure you’re not a philosophy major?”</p><p>George noticed Maia picking at the cardboard coffee cup sleeve her drink sat in. “But really, are you going to get a job or something? Just in case we want to take your pessimistic approach.”</p><p>She stared outside. “That would be smart. Maybe I’ll try to convince Professor Ingram to replace Jane with me—god knows even I would be more help than her.”</p><p>“Now there’s an idea.”</p><p>Maia checked her phone, frowning down at it before looking up at George. “I think I should go job hunting or something. Maybe swing by my social studies classrooms and pass, or whatever.”</p><p>“An even better idea!”</p><p>She smiled at him. “Okay, well I’ll see you later.” She slung her blue bag over her shoulder, pulling her hoodie around herself exaggeratedly. “Time to face the harsh winter winds.”</p><p>He laughed and wished her luck. For a moment, he had forgotten that he recently flung himself head-first into a drug ring. He drank more of his coffee, sighing as he finished it. He would have to go back to the apartment to try to get Clay’s number and dreaded the idea of waking up Nick after staying out so late last night. But it was too chancy to help them, right? He doesn’t owe them anything.</p><p>The chilly air outside was a stark difference from the warm café and George felt like another Floridian with no cold tolerance. He crossed the road to the courtyard of the business administration building, intending to cut across and take a shortcut he knew to a road closer to the apartment.</p><p>What made him stop, however, was the sight of someone leaning up coolly against a lamppost. He was dressed in black jeans and a familiar green hoodie.</p><p>George’s heart pounded. Could it really be Clay? He walked on, intending to quickly glance whoever it was as he passed him.</p><p>He beat him to it, however, and pushed off the lamppost with his foot. He walked toward George, who stopped again.</p><p>“Hey,” Clay greeted, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Let’s chat.”</p><p>George wordlessly follows him to the nearest bench, a million questions racing in his mind. Anxiety twisted his stomach.</p><p>Clay pulled his hood off. His hair was more golden in the sun, but the light also revealed his injuries. He looked like hell—his lip cut was swollen and the dark bruise that settled on his cheek had patches of red and yellow. But something else was clearly bothering him.</p><p>“Did someone beat you up again?” George joked. He was surprised he could. But sitting here with him made him feel comfortable somehow.</p><p>Clay managed a small smile, staring off at a tree on the other side of the pavement. “No, surprisingly.”</p><p>A light brown squirrel dashed across the grass to a tree, flying up the bark and shaking a branch. “How did you know I was here?”</p><p>“You said something about business classes, I kind of guessed.” He sounded dismal. Between his voice and his injuries, Clay looked like the furthest thing from the cool and composed leader George thought of him yesterday. He almost seemed smaller—it made George’s heart ache. “I came here to start talking about everything with you, but something has come up.”</p><p>George furrowed his brows. “Come up? What do you mean?”</p><p>“Blossom is <em>here</em>.”</p><p>George’s skin erupted in goosebumps. He looked around instinctively, as if he knew anything about this Blossom girl that wrecked this pretty boy’s face.</p><p>“Not anymore, but I saw her. Like, minutes ago.”</p><p>“Did you talk to her?”</p><p>Clay shook his head. “She didn’t see me. But, George,” he shifted and faced George, carefully studying him. “She was &lt;i&gt;in&lt;/i&gt; the coffee shop with you.”</p><p>George felt his mouth dry up. He had been in the same room as the person that wrecked so much havoc on Clay and his makeshift family. The person that ruined their home and strained their lives even more. “What did she look like?”</p><p>“I’m certain she was the one with a blue bag. I saw it last night when we met up. I think she was in a grey hoodie, but I couldn’t see her face.”</p><p>George wished he could replay his morning like a movie and scan the background for anyone like that. He wasn’t paying attention to everyone in the shop and the only blue bag he saw was—</p><p>His felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Are-are you sure? Same bag?”</p><p>Clay nodded, looking at George curiously. “Positive. Why, did you see her?”</p><p>The world around him seemed to spin. “I-I <em>know</em> her. We had coffee together after class this morning.”</p><p>Clay was quiet, his green eyes calculating.</p><p>“But you must be wrong, there’s no way she is—”</p><p>“No, it was her,” Clay said quietly. “Your friend is Blossom.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading through ch3! make sure to add this story to your bookmarks and follow me on twitter at @mollynotfound_ to know when i post another chapter! please comment your thoughts! have a good day :D ~molly</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sugar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for being patient on the calamity chapter updates! more frequent chapters to come. just got stuck for a bit, i know where i want to go with this now!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This would make the second time in twenty-four hours that Clay pulled the tablecloth out, sending whatever casualties there may be tumbling to the floor. George intended today to quit this insane curveball he was blindly following, but he felt just as conflicted now as he did last night.</p><p><br/>
One glaring question tugged at his mind: <em>who was right?</em> Was that even a fair question in this occupation? Perhaps <em>whose hands are cleaner?</em> would be a better one—Clay’s were scraped and bruised, while Maia’s were manicured with crimson nail polish. But is that a tell that Maia uses others to do her dirty work while Clay wanders willingly into dangerous situations, and is the latter more noble? Or more idiotic?</p><p><br/>
How dare he even debate the morality of the two considering the path he wanted to follow most? Every logical cell in his brain screamed at him to drop everyone involved, but could he even do that? He thought of Tommy and Tubbo—just two young friends that were thrusted into dreadful situations, and how Clay was helping them. And how Wilbur and Niki just want to be together and have found a way to be through Clay’s business. Would it even be fair to them to leave their fates at the hand of Blossom, someone who had the full power to harm even more?</p><p><br/>
George swallowed dryly. She could take them entirely off the market. Why wouldn’t she? If George were her, that’s exactly what he would do. If she had the intent, she could likely find a way to expose them to the police or desolate their business without chipping a single nail.</p><p><br/>
“George?”</p><p><br/>
His head snapped up at the sound of his name and he felt like he had been awoken from a dream. The pair of them were sat in an old diner’s booth with tacky red fabric peeling off the seat. The table was plastic but stained from years of spilled coffee and age. Clay was sat on the outside seat next to him, which was strange considering they were the only two at the table. A middle-aged black woman dressed in a pocket apron wrapped around her waist and a notepad in hand, looking at George with a wide smile. “Just coffee for you too, dear?”</p><p><br/>
He felt himself nod. “Er, yes, but no sugar, please.”</p><p><br/>
She laughed, her nametag glinting from the morning light filtering through the window. It read Essie. “Well I sure hope not, there won’t be any left after your friend here has his share!”</p><p><br/>
George turned to Clay, who smiled and covered his eyes with his bruised hand. “Essie, you’re embarrassing me.”</p><p><br/>
“I’ll be right out with your coffees, sugar,” Essie turned away laughing, folding up her empty notepad. “Ha! Get it? Sugar!”</p><p><br/>
He turned to Clay. Could he really be trusted? Who’s to say he’s any different than Maia? But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he felt it was wrong. The bruises on Clay’s face did not lie—this was the losing side, and their best chance to stay afloat was if George helped them.</p><p><br/>
A serious look suddenly fell over Clay’s face—he almost looked vulnerable. With lowered eyes, he clearly had something on his mind and was about to speak until he heard the chime of the door signaling someone’s arrival. He perked up, and he resumed his natural expression. The diner had a long stretch of counter that acted as a bar, and a few odd characters populated it.</p><p>Among them were a police officer, a sketchy old man that did not seem to be in the conversational mood, and a woman with her daughter eating pancakes together. Niki and Nick had just walked in the door.</p><p><br/>
They glanced the pair almost immediately, as if they had a usual spot in this aged diner. After taking their seats together, George noticed that Niki had a warm glow about her.</p><p><br/>
“I assume everything went well, then?” Clay asked cautiously.</p><p><br/>
Niki beamed. “Very smoothly. I think we have a long-term deal with them.”</p><p><br/>
Clay sighed in relief. “Well that’s one thing that’s going right today.”</p><p><br/>
Nick leaned forward across the table, folding his arms, and resting his elbows. “What’s going wrong?”</p><p><br/>
Clay gave George a concerned look. “It’s not… wrong, per say.” He almost looked like he wanted George to speak up. But as George was the furthest thing from comfortable with the revelation himself, he remained quiet. Clay sighed. “Okay. So, it turns out, George is… classmates… with Blossom.”</p><p><br/>
“Wait, so do you know anything about her that could help us?” Nick asked, straightening up.</p><p><br/>
“C’mon now, this couldn’t have been easy for him to hear. Let’s not jump there just yet.” Clay reasoned.</p><p><br/>
Nick sighed exasperatedly. “Dream, there’s no other way to go about this. You know this is a huge asset that’s just fallen into our laps. We can’t afford to waste time waiting for everyone to adjust.”</p><p><br/>
He was right. Though it made George uncomfortable to admit it, he was in an advantageous position for Clay and Nick. It’s like having access to the other team’s playbook—there would never be a bigger upper hand than this.</p><p><br/>
“But you are on our side, right?” Niki spoke quietly. “If we are to trust him, we need to be sure of where his loyalties lie. We don’t have room for blind faith.”</p><p><br/>
“I’m with you,” George stated confidently. “I want to help, and this is an undeniable asset. We should use it.”</p><p><br/>
“Are you sure?” Clay asked uneasily. “I can’t even imagine—”</p><p><br/>
“I’m sure.” Though it did not comfort him to know he would have to play double-agent, he was certain that without his help, Clay and his group would certainly get wiped out. And if he knew that and chose not to help them, isn’t it as good as taking them out himself? “But I need to know more—a lot more—about the operation. I’m no help if I can’t assess everything that’s going on. It’s possible that alternating who’s selling the drugs—”</p><p><br/>
Nick busted into a cough that mirrored that of a drowning survivor. But even more shocking, George felt a warm hand squeeze his own firmly to grab his attention. He looked over at Clay on instinct, glancing at his bruised hand around George’s on the seat, and could see panic in his eyes.</p><p><br/>
“Hey, what—”</p><p><br/>
Nick leaned over the counter. “Open your eyes once in a while, George. We’re totally within earshot of that copper at the bar. Are you trying to—”</p><p><br/>
“We just need to be careful,” Clay spoke in a hushed voice, still holding onto George’s hand. The way he gripped it—it was more desperate than a simple attention-grabbing gesture.</p><p><br/>
“Okay,” George half-laughed awkwardly, taking his hand out from Clay’s grasp, and shoving it into his jacket pocket. Truthfully, the touch of another human in general startled him. This was what he blamed his racing heart on—it had just been a while since he felt any kind of touch.</p><p><br/>
Nick half-stood and twisted around the booth to look at the cop at the bar. He didn’t seem to catch George’s slip and remained focused on the news program that was playing from a grimy TV that was mounted on the wall behind the bar.<br/>
Just then, Essie came waltzing around the bar nearing the booth holding a coffee in each hand, her apron pockets stuffed with a notepad, utensils, and condiment packets. She smiled wide, placing the two coffees in front of Clay and George. She didn’t seem to notice the tense atmosphere at the table.</p><p><br/>
“Hello, loves! Anything I can get for you?”</p><p><br/>
“No thanks, Essie,” Niki replied sweetly. “Just visiting today.”</p><p><br/>
“Coffee’s on the house,” Essie grinned before walking away.</p><p><br/>
The mood seemed to shift once Clay moved to grab a packet of sugar from the sugar caddy near the back of the table. Except, he didn’t grab a packet, he pulled the whole caddy toward him. He started pulling out four, five, six packets of sugar for his small coffee mug, earning laughs from Nick.</p><p><br/>
“You’re always so amused,” Clay noted.</p><p><br/>
“You act all tough, but you take, like, twenty sugars in your coffee.”</p><p><br/>
Niki chuckled at this. “He’s right. But I should get going, lots to do today. So, you’ll let me know about what Eret says?”<br/>
Clay nodded without looking up, tearing open sugar packets two at a time before dumping them into his cup. “Seeing him today.”</p><p><br/>
“Want me to come with?” Nick asked.</p><p><br/>
He shook his head. “I’ll take George, if he wants to know then he needs to meet him.”</p><p><br/>
~</p><p><br/>
The second George stepped into the Florida afternoon wind, he wished he had drunk more of his warm coffee. Though it was midday, the brisk wind ripped through his pullover. He followed Clay down the rotting wooden steps from the diner and onto the sunny sidewalk next to a busy road. They passed a few sketchy characters that littered the street and were headed deeper into the shady side of town.</p><p><br/>
George cleared his throat. “So, there’s some things I noticed about your whole… operation… that I think we should talk about.”</p><p><br/>
“Yeah, shoot.”</p><p><br/>
Honestly, he didn’t know where to begin. There were inefficiencies all over the place—most of them stemming from the fact that there were no legal rules in play here. Of the whole group, he could find a place for most of them—Nick seemed to be Clay’s second-in-command, Wilbur helped them with the dirty work, and Niki reached out to dealers. But that still left two big income vacuums unaccounted for.</p><p><br/>
“What do Tommy and Tubbo do?”</p><p><br/>
Clay sighed. “Oh. Well, you know…”</p><p><br/>
“I don’t mean to be blunt, but they come across like charity cases.” He was met with silence. “You have to start using them more. Maia—um, Blossom—isn’t keeping people on because they’re her friends, you know? She’s utilizing them.”<br/>
“They’re just kids,” Clay said meekly. “They remind me of when I was younger. If they got hurt…”</p><p><br/>
George’s heart sunk for Clay. “Look, I know you think you’ve built this so that you’re the only one tht gets the fall for any of it… but it’s not true.”</p><p><br/>
They stopped at a cross walk; Clay’s eyes glued to his sneakers.</p><p><br/>
“If you’re storing product at the garage, and the others hang out there often, then they’re just as guilty. You hope it will all fall on you, but truthfully, it won’t. Everyone’s already at risk.”</p><p><br/>
His words seemed to hang in the air, but he knew he shouldn’t say anything more.</p><p><br/>
Finally, he spoke. “What do you suggest they do?”</p><p><br/>
As much as he hated it, his brain made the connection immediately. “It seems like your only market is through Niki’s connections. It would be logical to try to expand that…and using them, it would be into younger markets. They have the reach for that.”</p><p><br/>
Even saying it made him feel sick. It felt like one thing to help his friend with his business, but another thing entirely to suggest he should encourage kids to do drugs.</p><p><br/>
He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Clay ran a hand through his messy blond hair, but the wind messed it up again almost immediately.</p><p><br/>
“It-it’s just economics. Justifying their wages, you know?” Clay didn’t respond. It must’ve been easier for George to compartmentalize business-decisions and their emotional consequences. “Um, so where are we going?”</p><p><br/>
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll like him,” Clay replied, almost smiling to himself. “We’re going to see my supplier. His name’s Eret.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>follow me on twitter at @mollynotfound_ for mcyt content and new chapter notifications! thanks for being patient while i was working through my writer's block :D have a great day!<br/>~molly</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Wind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>SHE UPDATED, IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!<br/>twitter: @mollynotfound_</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George followed Clay into a classic Orlando neighborhood—the sidewalks were scarred with cracks, road signs either missing or bent, and low houses populating the streets with drawn curtains. Overgrown trees provided shade and cooled the chilly air.</p><p>The house they stopped at blended in with the scenery perfectly. The squatty home was painted a cream color and faded from the Florida sun, bushes and grass growing wildly in the front yard. The pair were quiet, and George looked up at Clay expecting a preface of the character they were about to meet, but Clay stared silently ahead at the chipped tan door.</p><p>A brush of wind caused George to pull his jacket around himself, and Clay finally spoke. “Nobody has ever come with me to these things before, so I don’t really know how he will act.” It was not the comforting words George would have liked to hear.</p><p>Why <em>was</em> he coming along? From a business standpoint, all he really needed to judge was the price Clay spent on product and distribution, meeting a supplier was not necessary. Still, he felt needed in a different way that went beyond advising. He was here to observe, but what was it that Clay wanted him to see?</p><p>The house was merely a mask—on the other side of the door, the “home” transformed into a barren, empty shell. The air was thick and still, with scarce furniture in each room. It appeared as if interior walls had been removed, as the whole house was “open concept”. Their entrance went unnoticed by the house’s occupants, as nearly all of them seemed to be stoned out of their mind or in hushed conversation.</p><p>The feeling of walking on the beige, matted carpet with his shoes on unnerved George, and he reluctantly followed Clay through the strange obstacle course of cardboard boxes and trash, until finally a break into what was at some point a living room.</p><p>White afternoon light flooded the empty room from the far window made the outline of a tall man leaning on a bar stool dramatically clear. He had a chiseled jawline and curly hair, and had a hand placed flat against another man’s chest, whispering intently in his ear. George could see a bag full of white powder hooked between his fingers.</p><p>Clay cleared his throat and the man lazily turned to their direction, dropping his hand into his pocket, the white bag slipping out of sight. His silhouette’s posture changed into a confident and lanky pose, one that George didn’t think possible on a stool.  “Pleasant surprise!” He called across the barren house in a booming voice. “Oh, do I <em>ever</em> wonder why you’re here.”</p><p>“Sounds like you already know,” Clay gritted through his teeth. His face hardened unkindly. “I need another shipment this week,”</p><p>“So, it’s true then,” Eret stood up from his chair, striding confidently toward the pair. The light from the previous room lit his features. Despite towering at over 6’3, he glided in clunky black platform boots that pushed him up a few more inches. His hair was almost as dark as his eyes, his jaw stern. “I mean, I heard Blossom’s boys made you their chew toy, but I can tell that much from looking at your face. What a shame…”</p><p>Eret reached out and dragged his finger along Clay’s cheekbone, following the bottom curve of the defined bruise. His nails were painted a glossy black.</p><p>Clay’s face was as still as a soldier’s and he stared at Eret challengingly. “It was an oversight.”</p><p>“I’ll say,” Eret replied in a rich voice, his finger now dropping to Clay’s lips. Something wretched in George’s stomach. At a moment’s contact, Clay tilted his jaw away from him, averting his eyes and shifting his weight.</p><p>“I-I can afford it, could you please just—”</p><p>“<em>You would do well to look at me when speaking!</em>” Eret screamed, his finger turning into a fist around Clay’s chin and forcing his head forward. His voice vibrated the walls--George was sure the police would be called.</p><p>“I can afford it.” Clay replied, straining to talk against Eret’s firm grip. “And then some.”</p><p>As if flipping a switch, Eret’s stern composure shifted into an unnerving smile. “That right? Considering it’s been less than a week, the cost would certainly be…”  Eret’s dark gaze settled on George, his eyes focusing in and out as he studied him. “Oh, well you are not very happy with me.”</p><p>George blinked. Tension racked his body, his fingernails digging into his palms. He straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans, and tried to look more composed. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” he managed, cursing the unsteady sound of his voice.</p><p>Eret’s eyebrows lifted, clearly amused. He dropped his hold on Clay, walking a few towering steps to George. Every step made his chest constrict tighter. As psychotic as Eret came across, George couldn’t deny he was attractive. He grinned, as if reading George’s thoughts. “Do you have something to say?” He all but growled.</p><p>George shook his head, swallowing hard.</p><p>“Pretty mouth like that and nothing to say?” Eret mused, tilting his head to the side.</p><p>“That’s enough, Eret,” Clay objected. “This isn’t about him.”</p><p>“That so?” Eret spit, turning away from George. The air seemed to return to his lungs. “Then I’m sure ‘and then some’ implies double, Dream, for trying to embarrass me in front of your new boyfriend.”</p><p>George’s face burned. The memory of Clay grabbing his hand at the diner intruded his mind for a moment, and his heart fluttered in response.</p><p>Clay shrugged, looking at Eret disinterestedly. “That’s fine. Like I said, I can afford it.”</p><p>Eret broke out into a loud laugh, shattering the quiet conversation and shuffles around the room. George glanced around at them, but the drifters scarcely gave Eret a second look, as if their leader broke out into psychotic laughter often. “Look at you, all nonchalant and tough!” His voice seemed to hold the room in a suspended silence. “But I can see through that pretty façade of yours, you’re just saving face in front of this treat right here.”</p><p>Clay seemed to become possessed by another person. He straightened, his head cocked, and lips stretched into a joyless smile. “<em>My</em> façade, huh? You strut around this hellhole high out of your mind, surrounded by lowlifes who don’t give a shit about you. You do realize they only tolerate you because you feed their addiction for free, right?” Clay snipped in a venomous tone, the earthy air in the decaying room igniting and stirring the wallflowers.  “Actually, not for free. They pay you in whatever affection you demand to fill that empty place where you desperately want a heart.”</p><p>Even after his scolding ceased, Clay looked ready to erupt. George tried to remember if he had enough ice packs for what was about to happen.</p><p>But instead, Eret eyed him hatefully. “You don’t know <em>shit, </em>kid. Get the fuck out of here before I make it triple.”</p><p>George moved first, grabbing Clay’s elbow, and pulling him toward the door. The contact made the situation realer, somehow, and he let his hand drop to Clay’s wrist to ease his anxiety.</p><p>They stumbled out into the biting wind, but Clay was shaking before he even closed the door.</p><p>The blond boy rubbed his free hand over his tired face. George kept them moving, however, quietly noting something about getting to the end of the street.</p><p>Though it was entirely illogical, George’s mind was set on reaching the bent stop sign before allowing himself to calm down. His feet dug into the loose gravel, trying to convince himself that he was safe—that Clay was alright.</p><p>A rush of comfort washed over George once they reached the end of the road, and he ceased his walking. Clay stood next to him, his wrist limp in George’s hand. He was unrecognizable from the force that wrapped the living room in a fury of truth just minutes ago. His bruised face paled and lips pursed in a stroke of light pink. His green eyes stood emptily ahead, as if staring into a future George could not see.</p><p>George wracked his brain for things to say. Should he admit he was scared in an attempt to lower Clay’s walls? Or provide some insight he had no grounds to make?</p><p>“Thank you for getting me out of there,” Clay spoke quietly. “If you hadn’t pulled me away, I don’t know what I…” His voice trailed off into the wind. George dropped his wrist.</p><p>“Don’t think like that,” He told him softly. “Let’s just… focus on what did happen. We’re getting another shipment, that’s a good thing.”</p><p>Their eyes met, and George could see the uncertainty and worry in Clay’s face. “Fuck, things aren’t going well, and I don’t know what to do—”</p><p>It became clear to George that Eret was not the only lonely leader in the shabby house. Eret seemed to misplace his loneliness into other people, but Clay let it swell inside of him until he was drowning in doubt.</p><p>George stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Clay’s torso. His hand splayed across his back to feel the soft fabric of his green jacket, and he hugged him tightly. “You don’t need to know,” George mumbled, resting his chin on Clay’s shoulder. “I’m here to help you.”</p><p>He felt Clay inhale in quiet surprise and was worried for a split second that he misread what Clay needed to calm down. But after a moment passed, Clay relaxed into George, snaking his arms around him, and leaning his head against George’s. His heart pounded through his hoodie. “I’m so tired of pretending,” Clay whispered, barely audible in the whipping wind.</p><p>The words spilled out of George unapologetically, dissipating honestly into the sky. “You never have to pretend around me.”</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi! let me know what you thought in the comments or on my twitter at @mollynotfound_<br/>enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>An anxious buzz circled the two teenagers as they walked their usual morning path, their nerves all but radiating off of their young shoulders.</p><p>“So, um-“ The brunet boy started, voice quiet from unused morning stillness. “Should we talk about what Dream told us?”</p><p>It all but plagued Tommy’s mind the night after their small meeting. He had seen their increasing involvement coming for a long time, but it didn’t make the news any less shocking. He and Tubbo were going to start dealing. Better yet, Dream wanted them to meet with them tonight and hear about their efforts to get involved in their high school’s drug circles. “I’m trying not to think about it,” Tommy replied quietly.</p><p>Silence settled like the low morning fog until Tubbo spoke up again. “Well, yeah, but it’s… it’s today, Tommy. We kind of have to plan before we get to school, you know?”</p><p>“I just want to see my Gran first, okay? We’ll put it off for another hour.” As the words left his lips, he felt a twinge of regret. He knew Tubbo would feel better having a plan as early as possible, but the only thing on Tommy’s mind was visiting his Gran in the hospital. His Granddad told him last night that she developed an allergy to her medication, and Tommy was eager to check in on her.</p><p>The rest of their walk was filled with jovial remarks and light banter, an aspect of Tommy’s morning he’d grown to love. Starting each day with a dismal hospital visit was always improved with Tubbo’s company.</p><p>Soon enough they were walking into the Visitor’s Entrance and up to the tall, clean counter immediately behind the glass entrance doors. “Good morning, boys,” The hospital worker smiled, her brown eyes perked by caffeine and fighting tiredness. She wordlessly slid the check-in clipboard to them, a pen with a comically huge flower laying on the paper.</p><p>Per their routine, they took the elevator to the 4<sup>th</sup> floor to buy their usual coffees. When the metal doors slid open, they were met with a long line curling around the coffee cart. “I’ll order for you, maybe you should go on up,” Tommy said quickly upon seeing the volume of people on the floor.</p><p>Tubbo almost protested before swallowing his words anxiously. “Alright. And extra sugar, please,” he replied, forcing a goofy smile back on his face.</p><p>“You’re an actual child,” Tommy teased as he exited the elevator. He turned to watch the elevator doors close and just as he did, Tubbo’s grin slipped off his face and dropped his shoulders down with it.</p><p>They had first met at this coffee cart after recognizing each other vaguely from school, back when their guardians were on the same recovery floor. As of the last few months, Tubbo’s mother frequented the ICU wing, meaning they usually split at the 4<sup>th</sup> floor to visit their respective families. Tommy offered the first couple weeks to follow him up to the ICU wing, but Tubbo declined with a light laugh every time.</p><p>Tommy had only met Tubbo’s mother once. They shared an uncanny resilience, both having kind eyes and dopey smiles, but she was frail and sick, years of chronic illness and unhealthy habits finally catching up to her. She had barely seemed to notice Tommy, focused only on asking her son a million questions, staring at him as if absorbing every detail.</p><p>Tubbo rarely brought her up, but he could tell how badly he was hurting. He tried to hide it at every opportunity, fanning away Tommy’s questions about her health and always returning the conversation to their shared interests or Dream.</p><p>The line dwindled down and Tommy autopilot-ordered their usual coffees. He smiled at familiar hospital workers, the coffee cart associate greeting him by name. Once, he even gave the boys a nurse’s discount on Tubbo’s birthday.</p><p>He wandered back to the elevator, sitting briefly on the waiting room chairs, watching the doors to reveal his friend. Once they did, Tommy caught  the dismal look on Tubbo’s face that dissipated when he found Tommy’s eyes.</p><p>They entered Tommy’s Gran’s room, morning light filtering through the hazy window into the warm room. She was sat up, a cup of tea forgotten on her lap tray as she held a book open between her thin fingers. “Good morning, dears,” she smiled at the pair, placing the book down. Tommy was filled with comfort as she reached out her hand to him. “Granddad cook a good dinner last night?”</p><p>“Spaghetti and meatballs again, do with that what you will,” Tommy grinned, his Gran laughing in reply. Deep, joyful wrinkles circled her light blue eyes.</p><p>“Perhaps you’ll get lucky and he’ll make Velveeta mac and cheese tonight,” She giggled. Tommy turned his nose up in disgust.</p><p>His Granddad did his best to keep their regular family dinners despite the chef of the house being in bedrest at the hospital, but more often than not Tommy would suggest they get takeout after another less-than-spectacular homemade meal. “<em>Anything</em> but Velveeta, I’m begging,” Tommy glanced at Tubbo, who shared his grin.</p><p>Though it was always the highlight of Tommy’s days to visit his Gran, he couldn’t help but feel that Tubbo had just as good of a time as he did. He often joined in the light-hearted conversation—Tommy’s Gran usually roping him in—and laughed with them.</p><p>It was easy to forget how he got the money for the hospital bills. It was hard not to think about the one event that would stop them from billing.</p><p>Their weightless morning was disrupted only when Tubbo mentioned the time, suggesting they make their way to the high school. They parted with cheerful farewells, but as soon as the door closed, Tommy felt plunged into the overhanging task of the day.</p><p>The brisk outside air contrasted sharply with the warm visit. “Oh, so I think I have an idea of who we could ask. For the whole… y’know,” Tubbo bit his lip nervously.</p><p>“Oh yeah?”</p><p>Tubbo nodded. “Yeah, um, there’s this guy, Nicky,  in my history period. I’m pretty sure he’s in with Purpled.”</p><p>Tommy’s eyes darted up in interest. “I hadn’t even thought about Purpled. That’s pretty smart, getting to him.”</p><p>His best friend grinned, clearly pleased. “Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking about it.”</p><p>Purpled was a senior that apparently went to their high school, but Tommy had never actually seen him. He was quietly known as the best weed plug, but even his customers only ever met his associates, like Nicky. Tommy figured that if anyone would be eager to expand their reach, it would be Purpled.</p><p>“I’ll have Nicky meet us at lunch. That is, unless you think I should talk to him?”</p><p>“No, I want to be there,” Tommy said quickly. “You thought of him, it’s only fair I help you talk to him.”</p><p>Tubbo did not need his help, however.</p><p>This was something Tommy realized immediately upon meeting him and Nicky at lunch, the Florida sun beaming down and warming the winter day. Despite the warmer weather, Tubbo walked alongside a teenager swimming in dark clothes, a hoodie hiding his hands and a beanie covering his long, light-brown hair. Nicky looked up at him, a glint in his eyes.</p><p>“Tubbo says you two work for some drug lord?”</p><p>Tommy bit back a smile as Dream’s confident smile flashed in his mind. There had been more than a couple times where Tommy wished neither of them were wrapped up in this, and in some other universe Dream wouldn’t feel the weight of a leader. He kept a good shield up in front of the group, but sometimes, Tommy could see the burden he carries.</p><p>“We, um, supply.”</p><p>Nicky laughed, yellow teeth flashing. “I still can’t believe it. You two? Dealing?”</p><p>“It’s good shit. Purpled will be interested.”</p><p>Nicky took a not-so inconspicuous drag from his vape, exhaling white smoke toward the ground. It swirled out defiantly, twisting and dissipating in a vague scent of orange. “Alright. You can meet him at Bridgeton High tomorrow night, he’s got a setup there.” Nicky leaned in closer, eyes glancing around nervously. “You might want to bring a little backup. He’s got weird friends.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hi! thanks for reading :) lemme know what u think!<br/>next chapter out soon</p>
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